


Welcome To The Dead Club

by GoofyGoldenGirl



Category: Journey into Mystery, Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Afterlife, Anger, Arguing, Body Horror, Confrontations, Crossover, Dark, Dark Magic, Depression, Disturbing, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description, Guilt, Murder, POV First Person, Party, Past Character Death, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Remorse, Scars, Therapy, Trauma, angst shower scene, brief description of nudity, club, dead, death flashback, does this count as meta, fight, healing and acceptance, post agent of asgard # 13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoofyGoldenGirl/pseuds/GoofyGoldenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Loki is dead. He awakes in the afterlife and is accepted into a support club for dead comic book characters. But he will find that his troubles in life carry over in death </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If anyone's interested I made a playlist to go along with the series: <br/>http://8tracks.com/goofyplaylists/welcome-to-the-dead-club  </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is not about my last moments. To tell you the truth, I'd like to forget that.

This is about what happened to me after, when that white light came over me and it was the end.

I woke up on the floor. I wasn't bound and gagged, my clothes were intact, I wasn't in pain, and no sinister magic hovered over me. I blinked. It was dark, but I saw an orangey glow in the distance.

"Hey! We got a new one!"

The figure came closer, adding more light to the space. I could see clearly. The figure was tall, blond with a black streak of hair on the side, wearing a white suit. Blue eyes that were smeared with layers of black eyeliner and eye shadow. There were thin red scars on her neck.

"David Bowie?" I tilted my head.

"I wish," it was a girl's voice. Not that much older than me. "I apologize in advance, I'm gonna put on my best hostess impression and act really fucking cheery to the point of gagging."

She grinned. Two rows of shark like bleach white teeth flashed at me.

"Welcome!" She exclaimed. 

"Welcome?" I was confused.

"That's right! Welcome to the afterlife!" She did some sort of jazz hands thing.

"I'm dead?" I asked. 

"No shit kid, you're dead! We all are!"

Dead. I wasn't particularly surprised. Considering my average lifespan, I was bound to die at some point. 

"What is this place?"

"Heaven, hell, purgatory, what ever floats your boat," she answered. "But this set of land belongs to the Dead Club. And congrats! You're our newest member!"

The dead have support groups. Fun.  
*****************************************  
So here I was, sitting at the head of this table, watching as the others trickled in. I didn't pay much attention to who they were, although some seemed familiar. David Bowie girl stood up and clapped her hands. Everyone fell silent.

"I called this meeting 'cause a new one showed up!" She pointed at me. "Stand up horns!"

I did. She put a hand on my shoulder. 

"Let's welcome this kid with the club song!"

Everyone began to sing. There was even piano accompaniment coming from who knows where.

_Welcome to the Dead Club_

_Where everyone is dead_

_Welcome to the Dead Club_

_We're sorry that you're dead_

_Welcome to the Dead Club_

_Make the most of it instead_

_So gather round_

_And sing this now_

_Dead friendships never end!_

"Let's go around and introduce ourselves!" She exclaimed. "I'm Luci, also known as Lucifer. I used to be a god."

"So was I," I said.

"Long story short. We were attacked by some wannabe assassins. I had to defend the team, so I killed them. With a snap of my fingers. I've got powers see. Not only for fire," she demonstrated; a flame emerged from her fingertips. "But if I can do that special click, people's heads explode."

"I got arrested, which I think is stupid. And the judge was being a dick. So I decided to play at his game. I snapped my fingers. I thought flame was gonna pop out and scare the shit out of him, but no. Dude's head went ka-bam! Shit really hit the fan and they chucked me in prison!"

"You can't swear during the meetings!" Someone shouted.

"Fuck that noise!" She shouted back. "Some one was after me. I don't know who or why but they really didn't like me. So me and a friend were working together to find out what happened. Then I broke out of prison. It was my boss who caught up with me. And that's when I knew. It was her. And then--bam! She fucking decapitated me!"

She didn't realize that she had snapped her fingers again while she was gesturing and that the ceiling caught on fire. Several people jumped back with shouts. Someone picked up a hose and turned it on. Apparently, this had happened before.

"Oops. Sorry!" Luci apologized. She glanced at me again. 

"Enough about me. Tell us about you."

"Like what?"

"The basics. Your name. How you died. Come on, it's not that hard."

My heart started to pound. I could feel chills go down my spine. No. I didn't want to. I didn't want to remember. How I lived. How I died. It was and still is too painful.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled.

"Sheesh horns we've gotta start somewhere. You don't want me to call you horns for the rest of eternity do you?"

I looked out at the group for the first time. 

"My name is Loki," I said.

"Another one?" Luci was surprised. "Well fuck me sideways!"

I burst out into a cold sweat. No. _No_

"There's another Loki?" I tried to keep my voice calm. 

"I'm definitely calling you horns now!" She laughed. "Can't mix you up with that kid."

_Shit_

It was if my body had gone numb. My legs were trembling. I could feel the butterflies jumbling about in my stomach. In my prior life I would have collapsed to the ground and retched. But alas, I was and still am dead. 

"Hello."

Terrified, I lifted my head to look out.

He sat there at the far edge of the table, with the same appearance as the last time I saw him. Small, with jet black hair and youthful green eyes, wearing the same clothes as he did when he lived. He had not aged a day. He would never age another day. He would always stay forever the age of twelve.

One thing stood out. There were thin red scars at the corners of his mouth, like the ones that Luci had on her neck. 

I wished I could faint. But I forced myself to look up and meet his gaze.

"Hello Loki," I stuttered.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dead Club is supposed to be like paradise. Your own personal heaven. You know, like how it's shown on that CW show.

You work it with your mind. Thoughts are a powerful thing. They were in life and even more so in death. You want a giant swimming pool? Think of one and pop! It's there. Feel like eating a double bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles with a side of ketchup and fries? Turn around and it's there sitting on the table. 

There is no need to sleep. You can eat and drink as much as you'd like and you don't feel the call or nature or an upset stomach.The afterlife is free of disease and try as hard as you can but no cuts, bruises, or wounds mark your skin.

They give you a space just for yourself and you can create it into whatever you want. My space looks like my old apartment. I spend most of my time there. I tend to avoid the others. There are activities you can go to but I don't go. But the meetings are mandatory.   
****************************************************************************************************  
"Sometimes I think he's gone too far."

I'm sitting there, trying to zone out, staring down at the table, counting the droplets of soda running down the side of my glass. But the whining coming from the same five sets of middle-aged, well to do parents is unbearable. 

"But your son is doing good for the world."

"I know, but is it worth it to risk his life?"

For god's sake can't these parents just give it up? Let the kids wreck hel on the world for a little while if it makes them feel better. And they're not some little kids, they're _grown_ men. They're in control of their life and these _parents_ just can't accept that. 

Maybe I'm just angry because no one showed me that type of love. Yeah, Odin did in those last moments: an I love you that came a thousand years too late. But they didn't want me. They never wanted me. Yet they had the gall to try and shape me into something I'm not and manipulate me like putty.

Fuck parents. Fuck them. 

There are two of them speaking: a man and a woman. Dressed like they were going to the opera; a tuxedo with a bow tie and a little black dress. She wears the full diamond set: earrings, necklace, and bracelet, and he wears a gold watch that is so bright it hurts my eyes. 

Freyja and Odin would don those clothes if they were Midgardian. They'd clad themselves in jewels and finery. They'd even have the same pattern of speech as these blockheads. 

Why do I have to be reminded of them now? I'm dead. I'm supposed to leave all my worldly concerns behind. 

"I take this now to the group. What do you think about Thomas and Martha's concerns?"

"You really need to let it go," I say.

I can feel everyone looking at me. This is literally the first time I've spoken at one of these meetings since I got here.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I need to burst into song and prance around? Let it go!" I lift my head up and stare down the two confused parents. "You're not a part of your son's life anymore! If he's moved on so should you!"

I don't care if I committed a faux pas and that I can hear the others gasp and shout, and see their fingers pointing at me from the corner of my eye. I don't care that all the dead go about expecting everyone to miss them. People forget about you as time goes on. You become nothing to them. It's life (death). 

I know that's what happened with me and it started long before I died. 

"And your son is what _thirty? Forty?_ " I add. "And you want to go around and take him by the hand and lead him about like he was a _child_ He's old enough to fend for _himself_ "

They're upset. The woman is on the verge of tears. She's clinging to his arm as he pulls her in close. I think he may be blinking back tears too. 

Someone raises his hand. Ben Parker. Peter Parker's father or uncle or grandfather or something.

"Can I speak from my own experience?" He pipes up. The leader of the session gives a nod. 

"I raised my nephew," he starts. "He came to May and I when he was just a little boy after his own parents died. The first year was hard for all of us: I lost a brother, Peter lost a father. But we had each other. We moved on and yet we kept the memories of those we lost with us. And when I died, I worried for Peter. He was so young and had suffered through so much. But deep down, I knew that Peter would be ok. It's hard for parents to accept that children have a life of their own, and we want to be there every step of the way, but there is so much we can do. We can guide them, hold their hand, but they're the ones who make their own choices. But it doesn't mean we're cast aside forever. We're never truly forgotten."

"That's a lie! That's a goddamn lie and you know it!" I spit out. 

I bang my fist on the table. I lunge forward and I'm letting out unintelligible gibberish in high pitched screams. Hands are on my shoulders and they yank me back. I go still. My arms jolt close to my body and I remember. 

I collapse into my seat. 

"Loki I'm going to ask you to leave."

Without a word I get up. I have to give myself that little extra push to walk. I leave. I feel their eyes on me as I exit the room.

It doesn't take long until I sink to my knees outside. 

"You ok horns?"

It's Luci. She crouches down next to me. She doesn't put a hand on my shoulder or anything like that. Thank god.

"I'm fine," I mutter.

"Listen. I don't know what happened between you and your folks, but coming from someone who also had shit parents, I totally understand," she holds her hand out and a cigarette appears. She snaps and takes a drag.

"We're those kids. The ones who don't know what love is. And cause of it, this hole grows. A small hole. Dark. It looms over you when you're alone, but with each passing year, you find that it tags along with you wherever you go and no matter what you do it won't leave. So we try to fill it or lash out against everyone and we end up really fucked up. And suddenly that hole is under your feet and you fall in headfirst. It's pitch black and you're alone, and you're terrified, and even though it seems like you're going to crash into the ground, you never reach the bottom."

The cigarette smell is tickling my nose. I don't need to sneeze but I can feel my face scrunching up like I'm about to. 

"I had to learn how to climb out of my hole," she says. "It's not easy. Even now in death, I'm still trying to deal with my parents not being around and all this anger I carry. But hey, we all have to start somewhere. And as cliche as it sounds, I feel better than I used to." 

I don't answer her.

"You know where to find me," she stands up. "I don't go out of my way for just anyone, but I like you horns. You remind me of me." 

With an exhale she tosses her cigarette away and walks out. 

I'm alone with my thoughts. I remember.


	3. Chapter 3

He watches me with those wide green eyes. Staring at me during the meetings, hiding in the shadows as I make my way around the darkness, appearing in my thoughts when I'm alone.

We've managed to avoid each other for this long. It's odd considering that we relished any chance to confront others. We lived to provoke, to challenge, to push those buttons inside our opponents and drive them to madness. 

Or that's how our old self used to be before he died. It started in the child, newly reincarnated, wanting redemption for the chaos and death we had left behind. The mischievousness and moral ambiguity still dwelled inside him, yet he channeled those traits for good. He was eager to please and eager to be accepted although he knew deep in his heart that it would never be. No longer did we seek out our battles and lash out our frustrations on others.

That outlook carried over to me when I had done the unthinkable. I suffered to gain acceptance from others and to accept myself. And as I feared, I'd never be at peace. I'd be hated and hate myself. 

We've managed to skirt around the issue for far too long. It will end up happening as it had before. We will boil over and burst.  
*********************************************************************************************************************************  
He knew I was coming. He stands in the middle of the darkness. A corridor, the deepest part of the woods during the night, a cave, it could be anywhere but it is all the same.

"Loki?"

He glances up at me.

"I thought we could talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

It's a lie. He's swallowing back his anger. His stoic expression is broken by a grimace. It is at our calmest that we pose the most danger to others. Ourselves.

"So this is how we'll be," I say cooly. 

He turns away and disappears into the dark.  
****************************************************  
The others notice the tension. They don't say anything. I wonder if they knew I was the one who killed the child. Surely they must know how he died. I've heard everyone tell their death story again and again to the point where I start to question if they see it as something to brag about instead of an actual traumatic incident.

We're _dead._ We died too young. Too soon. Some of us left people behind. Or we're the ones left behind as the living move on forward without a glance back at us. Why are they happy? Why _aren't_ they wallowing in their pain? It doesn't matter if the afterlife is better than life itself, I don't want that. I miss _life._ It was unpredictably predictable. As a god of mischief and chaos, I thrived from making the most out of my situation and preying on unexpected events and people's emotions. And now that I'm here, even with this power of unlimited imagination, it so incredibly boring, doing the same things over and over again. 

I even miss the most mundane parts of life. I miss having to sleep. I miss being tired because I would know that I've pushed myself too far. I want to lie down and sleep. To experience that feeling of just closing your eyes and drifting away to wake up anew. I miss the dreams I used to have. Even nightmares because at least I knew that my fears were all in my head and that I could conquer them. I miss being able to actually cry because I'm sick of sitting around in this space with dry eyes and a heavy chest. And no matter how I try, I can't let my sadness out. I think for a second that my eyes would strain and redden, except I remember that I cannot feel physical pain. And as disgusting as it sounds, I miss having to relieve myself. They say the purpose of urinating and defecating is to rid the body of toxins. I've carried over my poison here, and I've only added more with each morsel of food I've eaten, and there's no way I can get them out.

I went on a tangent. Sorry. I'll go back to my tale.

As I was saying, they probably know. That I, the spirit of the old Loki resided in the magpie. There was a threat posed to all the world. A crown, made of the child's thoughts, dreams, and nightmares. Mephisto wished to use the crown for his own end. The only option was for the child to die, to be erased from existence. And thus, I emerged, from feathers, blood, and flesh as he chewed through the vessel and faded away. They've never confronted me about it. After my little outburst at that one meeting, everyone is keeping their distance. Except for Luci. She comes around often to check up on me. We sit outside my space and smoke. We don't talk. I can tell she wants to, and it's hard for such a talkative person like her to keep quiet, but we sit in silence. It's comforting in a way to have her around, even if she's just sitting next to me.

Like now. We sit, staring up at the black space above us. I try to imagine it as a sunny day, with a bright blue sky and fluffy clouds, but nothing changes. It is still black.

"You like dancing?" She pipes up. 

"I did once," I answer. I take a drag and exhale a puff of gray smoke.

"I'm having a dance party at my space and would very much like it if you attend."

"And if I don't go," I avoid her glance and stare down at the little stub that is my cigarette. 

"Then we'll have one hell of a good time without you."

She gets up and throws her stub as she walks away.

"See you around Horns." 

I would have wanted to go in my prior life. I loved being the center of the party. I lived for the beat and to be skilled on my feet. I used to hit the clubs almost every weekend. But now, I can't bring myself to listen to one song without getting in a state.  
***************************************************************************************  
The man with the claws beckons me in. I don't know why he wants to see me. We never cared for each other in life; we were on opposite sides, and care for each other even less in death. Yet I manage to fake my best smile and greet him.

"How's the afterlife treating ya?" God. He's got this disgustingly fake smile on too. 

"You don't have to pretend to care," I tell him.

"Good. Because the last thing I'd want is to kiss up to a little shit like you," Logan says. "But that's not why you're here."

"Then why?"

"I'm doing this more as a service. I have to monitor this session."

"Session?"

"Yeah. Therapy. We've all come to the conclusion that you need it."

Oh great. Therapy. Why can't they leave me alone?

"Fine. Where do we start?" I ask.

"Just give me a second," Logan walks over to the door.

"Hey kid! Get in here!" He shouts.

He walks in.

I'm frozen in my seat, feeling the nerves bounce around inside me. He sits down in the next chair without even acknowledging my presence. 

"Now I promise you two that I'll keep everything quiet. You have my word," Logan settles himself down in the chair that faces us. 

"You don't get along. Why?"

I glance away. The child lifts his head and opens his mouth:

"It's simple really," he says in a deadpan voice. "He killed me."


	4. Chapter 4

"You were the magpie?" Logan asks.

"Yes. I was the echo," I answer.

I'm trying to be as collected as I can, but my voice trembles. He notices. He is watching how my lips move.

There is another tense pause.

I'm staring down at my hands and they're shaking. Like how his hands shook during his last breaths; the blood and guts dripping down from his fingertips, his eyes wide and horrified, his lips trembling, trying to let out that final scream.

Logan doesn't know what to do. As a former member of the Xmen, he has faced many impossible things. But a self murder-suicide? I can tell he's trying to process the mere idea of it. 

Self murder-suicide. It sounds like something a Freud aficionado would put forth in some second rate psychology book. The only thing missing is phallic imagery and an Oedipus complex.

"And how do you feel?"

I can tell Logan has given up. An actual therapist would have come up with a question that was more specific. 

"I regret it," I say.

"No you don't," he tries to keep his voice flat but there is a hint of bitterness underneath.

"I didn't want to kill you," I continue. "I never wanted you dead."

"You **liar.** "

He has burst. He gets to his feet and sucks in a rattly breath. His mouth stretches, the scars at the corners of his mouth redden from a pale pink to a bright crimson.

"You've planned all along to **kill** me!"

"I didn't!"

"You never saw me as an actual living being! You saw me as some **vessel!** I was nothing more than an extension of yourself! I was just your **puppet!** "

"I respected you!" I snapped back.

" **Respected** me?" He shakily laughs. " **Respected** me? You never gave a damn about what I wanted with my life! You didn't care that I was a **person.** You didn't care that I wanted to **live.** You **used** me!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry's not going to fix anything! You've told me you were sorry again and again and again and you **never** meant it!"

"I **mean** it!" I shout.

"You don't! You're only sorry you got **caught!** "

"I tried to change," I am losing this fight. "Like you."

"You were just going to **screw** them over! Because you'd always **screw** them over in the end!" He screams. 

"That's not true! Please just trust--"

" **SHUT UP!** " He is shaking. If he weren't dead he would start crying and his whole face would be red. " **SHUT UP! I WON'T LET YOU! I WON'T LET YOU MANIPULATE ME AGAIN!"**

I've lost. I am out of words and I'm forced to _look_ at him and the fire in his eyes. 

" **YOU TOOK AWAY _EVERYTHING_ FROM ME! MY LIFE! MY FUTURE! MY MIND! MY BODY! MY DREAMS! MY BROTHER, THE ONLY FRIEND I EVER HAD! YOU _RIPPED_ ME APART! ALL BECAUSE OF A _STUPID_ CROWN! **

My hand reaches out. I want to prove that I care. I want to place a hand on his shoulder and say I understand that he has every right to be angry at me, but that he just needs to hear what I have to say.

" **I _HATE_ YOU!** "

He lunges at me. Logan jumps up and restrains him. He has him in an armlock. The kid keeps on shrieking, trying to kick his way out but Logan pulls him back.

If we weren't dead, he'd kill me. 

I run.

I run out of Logan's space into the dark. For a moment I can't see. I can't hear. I can't even feel my legs which are carrying me away as fast as they can. It's like my senses have shut down.

Then everything washes over me. 

My remorse. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Fear. I come to a halt. I stare out and they flash in front of me.

My memories. Every single memory from the first time I opened my eyes, gazing down at my bloodstained clothes, with a dull pain in my body to--

It **burns** me.

I remember. 

I feel it. I feel **everything.**

I scream.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** This chapter contains disturbing content and graphic detail

I want it to stop. I want to curl up into a ball and make the world around me go away. 

**I want it to stop.**

Emotional pain is the worst because you have to relive it, and as long as you do, it will never end.

**I want it to stop**

I'm on the ground and my screams bounce back and forth between the air around me and the black ground. My throat doesn't burn, my eyes don't sting, and my body keeps cool so I scream for what feels like an eternity.

"Loki?"

I look up. I do not see anyone. All I see is the darkness.

"Loki?"

It's a voice; soothing and melodious. I cannot tell if the speaker is male or female, young or old. 

"Who are you?" I whisper.

"I am here to help you," it echoes.

"I don't deserve help," I tell the ground.

"But you are not well," the voice continues. "What grieves you?"

I glance up again. I do not see anyone, only the darkness.

My mouth opens. I speak. 

_And there I was again, chained to that chair, feeling the restraints leave red marks on my skin._

_His words should have sent me into a rage. It should have made my blood boil, to give me that push to fight back and defy him. But he played me too well. The bastard was as eloquent as always. He knew how to get me to comply._

_I sat there, helpless. Weak. Hollow._

_I was him and he would have been me._

_With a snap of his fingers the restraints disappeared. He stared down at me and flashed his shark like teeth._

_"So. Do you understand now?"_

_"You're not giving me a choice."_

_"We were never meant to have a choice," he said cooly._

_"And if I fought you?" I asked flatly._

_"I'd make sure you wouldn't."_

_I stood up. My legs shook, but I couldn't feel them. I was calm, emotionless, and a danger to myself._

_"Now, now, cheer up, it's not like you'll be gone forever."_

_I stared at him with a blank expression. The child was defiant, angry. He kept on protesting and screaming til the very end. And what I was? A coward._

_The King waved his hand. My clothes vanished. A cool air brushed against my skin. I didn't shiver. I didn't even move my hands to cover myself. I followed him like a lamb heading to its slaughter._

_There was a human sized circle painted on the living room floor. It was dark red, blotchy,with thick lines, and gave off a rotting smell. Blood._

_"Lie down."_

_I did. He placed my arms out to the side, moved my legs apart. The positioning of the body was important for the spell. Everything had to be aligned correctly, like the man in that old Leonardo Da Vinci sketch._

_My emptiness broke. It shattered and turned into shards of fear. Goosebumps prickled my skin, my heart raced, and cold sweat dripped down my chest and back._

_"Will it hurt?" I asked._

_"It won't hurt," he crooned._

_He lifted my left palm up and made a horizontal cut with a dagger he had taken out from that pouch on his waist. He then made the same cut on his own palm and lined it against mine. I watched out of the corner of my eye. The pain in my hand tingled. It began to bleed more heavily than it did._

_The King let go and pressed his bloody hand on my chest. It left a noticeable imprint. Then he began to chant in a low and ominous tone in a tongue that I could not understand. His right hand curled and made an upward motion_

_It felt like my whole body was on fire._

_I screamed._

_I thrashed about. Instantly, his hands grabbed my arms, his legs placed themselves on mine. A green vapor began to rise around us._

_" You **lied** to me!" I yelled. His grip was so tight I feared it would break my bones._

_" **I** lied? He grinned. He enjoyed my pain. "I was telling the **truth** It wouldn't hurt **for me**_

_I bolted up, a hand up, ready to strike him. His hands grabbed my shoulders. His nails stabbed and dug into my skin. They slid over my shoulders, and I let out a fresh scream._

_His fingers dug into my **bones**_

_Searing. Scorching. My bones were burning to a crisp. My innards were melting into a pinkish, watery goo and sloshed about against my stomach. A mixture of blood and tears streamed down my face. I wheezed, feeling my chest tighten. The green smoke was coming out of my mouth. And his hands--they were stretching the corners of my mouth to let out more of the smoke. His finger jabbed in. I let out a muffled shriek. I tried to clamp my teeth down--to bite him, to get him **out** but then another went in. And another. And another, until his whole fist was in my mouth. I gagged as I felt the pieces of his hand break into smaller bits. The part of his hand still intact **shoved** them down my throat._

_My vision got blurrier. I couldn't make out the image of his body anymore; it all looked like a staticky image on tv. The smoke around us thickened and rose higher until it evaporated through the ceiling. I lay on the ground, almost paralyzed except for my chest which rose in time with the smoke. My skin turned pale and became loose and stretchy. I had no energy left. I felt like I was being drained._

_He placed his remaining hand on the imprint. It began to **sink** into my skin. I only watched in horror, my voice gone._

_His whole body lowered onto mine, perfectly matching each curve, corner, and space. He began to sink **into me**_

_It was then that I realized what the green smoke was._

_**My soul** _

_He grinned down at me, triumphant at last. It was a snake's eyes and a shark's sneer that I stared at. A growl that burst my ears as he **laughed** _

_Then all was black._


	6. Chapter 6

The last word escapes my lips. I lower my upper body once more and cover my face with my hands.

I fall silent once more. I'm shaking. I feel my heart sink; an emptiness wash over me.

"Loki. Can I ask you a question?"

I stare down at the ground. I can make out the different lines of black that make out the surface, tiny little lines that crisscross over and over again.

"Were you raped?"

"No," I am confused.

"Are you sure?"

"It wasn't. He never touched me in a sexual way," I answer.

"But he _violated_ you."

"Yes but it _wasn't_ rape," I glance up.

"Tell me what does this scenario look like to someone with no prior knowledge? A young man, forced against his will to comply with the actions of another, stripped and humiliated, his personal space invaded, and experiencing physical and emotional pain throughout. The viewer would say it was rape."

"They'd never allow it."

"Who's they?"

"You know who they are as much as I do. They can put me through many horrors. Kill me, torture me, brainwash me, force me to kill others, but they'd never consider rape. Even they have standards."

"But what _if_ they intentionally made it seem like rape?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Perhaps they know they could never say it outright."

"Why are you doing this to me? I _wasn't_ raped!" I am losing my temper.

"I want to hel--"

"If you _wanted_ to help me, you wouldn't be bringing up this psychoanalytical bullshit! You wouldn't claim that my death was _anything_ else than what it _was!_ You would _listen_ to me!"

"Loki, please--"

"You've missed the point! You've missed the _entire_ point! You're just _twisting_ my trauma to make it _fit_ your version of the _suffering_ I should go through!"

"But--" It starts.

"It's like you **want** me to be raped! You **pervert!** " I shout.

The voice doesn't respond. I am left alone for a while. I realize that it has gone away somehow.  
**********************************************************************************************************  
I don't need to bathe. But for the first time since I've arrived here, I've felt like I've needed one. I haven't even changed or removed my clothes besides my horns, gloves, boots, and coat.

My gloves are in my coat pocket. The coat and horns are hung up on the hanger near the front door. My boots are neatly lined directly underneath. I walk into the space that is my bedroom and head to what is the bathroom door. It has not opened for me until now.

I walk into the bathroom. It appears to be exactly the same as the bathroom in my apartment; the same bluish-green tiles on the floor and walls, same rectangular shape. The sink, shower, toilet, and closet are in the same place. The space knows my intent, I hear the water in the shower turn on. Soon, steam fills the room. 

I stare at the mirror hanging above the sink. It is a large one; I see my reflection from the top of my head all the way down to the top of my thighs. I lean down and remove my socks. They're green--a light green like my shirt. I look down at myself and glance back at the mirror. My toenails are painted black like my fingernails, the bottom of my feet are smooth I drop them to the floor. My hands unbutton and zip my jeans and I pull them down. My legs are pale, and little black hairs stick out on my lower legs. My thighs are hairless and well toned. I'm left with my shirt and black briefs. I tug on my underwear and they join the pile of clothes. My genitals are a few shaders darker than my skin tone, with coarse, short, curls covering the top part of my crotch.

I look into the mirror. My hands tense up. My heart pounds, and the nerves and fear overwhelm me again. I force my arms to grab the end of my shirt. I close my eyes as I pull the shirt over my head. I throw it aside. It misses the pile and lands close to the door. I can feel my hands moving to cover it, but once I open my end my arms fall by my side, numb.

There it is. My scar. The handprint etched onto my left pectoral. Red streaks of crimson that could start dripping again. Red streaks of crimson that will never heal. And once again I feel the pain and hear his laugh.

I stumble into the shower and collapse. The water cascades over me as I huddle my knees up to my chest, my eyes squeezed tight, my mouth gapes open, and I'm pulled down by the water and my agony. 

This was supposed to be soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter is dedicated to a certain type of Loki fanfic writers. Yes, **those** ones _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Life has been very busy for me lately. I'll try to do the best I can with the next set of chapters_

There's a commotion going on. I've arrived just in time to see that nearly everyone who's not at mini-golf or painting (I think? I don't keep track of what they do) is here. I don't know how far or how long I've walked. (I think I went south from my space) Everyone's making such a racket and of course I had to come out. I'm about to be the one to complain when I hear that there's a new member.

"Who is it now?" I ask Luci.

"From what it looks like, the head of Wolverine's fan club. And not in the good way," Luci says.

I look over her shoulder to see two men in an embrace. Or more accurately one squeezing the daylights out of the other. Wolverine is the only one standing. The other man is on his knees. His head's buried in Wolverine's neck.

"Wolverine! Buddy! I'd never thought I'd see you again!" The man exclaims, almost on the verge of tears.

Wait. I know that voice.

I glance over again. He's all dressed in red. A bright red, skintight bodysuit, complete with a red ski mask on his head.

Deadpool?

No it can't be. He can't die, he's the closest thing to an immortal the Midgardians have. Of course Wolverine was too, until his healing powers were taken away from him. I swear there must be some sort of plague affecting these mutants.

"Let go of me _now_ " Wolverine grumbles. 

"I'll never let you go," Deadpool whispers. "Never again."

He extends his hand and caresses Wolverine's face with a finger.

Yep, that's Deadpool alright.

He gets up and notices that we're looking at him.

"Aah!" He lets out a laugh. "Whatcha looking at? Just kidding! It's ok! It's ok! No need to be so scared of me!"

He gets on his tip of his toes and surveys the crowd.

"I don't know most of ya," he says. "And you can't introduce a new character without an introduction to remember so here it goes--Heyya fellas, it's the one, the only--"

There's a pop. Right beside Deadpool's head, these small yellow boxes filled with text appear.

_You don't need an introduction you're motherfucking Deadpool!_

_Don't go with Deadpool, go with Wade!_

_You promised you'd enter this place on a unicorn! A unicorn dude!_

"Aw come on guys! You're ruining the moment!" Deadpool shouts. The boxes disappear. Everyone is staring at him, confused and a little surprised. Someone behind us squints. Deadpool notices.

"You? You can see the boxes?" Deadpool points above him where the first one popped up.

He lets out a whoop.

"They can see the boxes! They can see the boxes!" He is emotionally choked up again.

He rips off his mask. I prepare myself for everyone to be grossed out and start screaming. I find that I'm opening my mouth to warn everyone but--

His face is normal.

There are no boils, no tumors. His skin is almost completely flawless with no birthmarks, acne, not even stubble. His eyebrows are bushy and thick, his nose thin, eyes a piercing dark brown that is nearly black, a wide forehead, and sharp cheekbones and a pointy chin. Once bald, light brown hair covers his head.

"What?" Deadpool asks. "What are ya all looking at I wish I could see--"

A mirror materializes into his hands. He glances down and for once, The Merc With A Mouth is speechless. He raises a hand to his cheek and strokes it. He holds the mirror closer, examining every shape and angle of his face.

"I--"

The mirror falls to the ground, the pieces still intact. Deadpool covers his face with his hands, and he lets out a roar.

"We were right all along! We really do look like Ryan Reynolds!" 

He cries tears of joy. He goes to embrace Wolverine once again. This time, he doesn't complain. He even lets out a smile.  
***************************************************************************************************************************************  
Gwen Stefani's _Hollaback Girl_ blares from the speakers. The tables are filled with every single type of Mexican food imaginable. In the middle of the dance floor, Deadpool is twerking to loud cheers.

I stand in the corner with a bottle of budlight in my hand. Budlight is absolute crap. I'm making myself drink this because I have to get myself to somehow participate in this party. I wish I could get drunk. Maybe if I imagine I am, I'll have an excuse to leave.

There are some invitations you cannot refuse. I felt obliged to attend to party, not because I was told to, but because I felt like I wanted to.

I didn't know Deadpool too well in life. I met him a few times and that was it. Last time we both were a part of a super villain takedown force run by Magneto. I liked his carefree and fun personality. He was someone I would have wanted to go and have a beer with, or play video games, or watch those so bad that they're good movies with. And maybe I want a bit more company than just misery.

But the road to old habits is still hard. I'm not at that place where I could be like I used to be. I'm not comfortable enough to do and strut around on the dance floor, to go up and chat and flirt. So far all I can get myself to do observe and drink. And I guess that's ok.

The kid's here. Not that it's a complete surprise, he liked a good party as much as I did. But considering the music choice and the alcohol, I'm surprised that no one's keeping a closer eye on him. Well what am I talking about, when I had the body after I drank and listened to edgy music, but it's different seeing him in this environment. It's probably because well, he's a _kid_ which is something that many people seemed to forget about us when we were that young. But still he's level headed. He's not even touching the alcohol (right now he's grabbing some food) and he knows about every single curse word in the book to understand what those songs are saying. There's a part of me (hidden within this fear I feel) that sort of wants to take him under my wing (ironic isn't it?) and look after him to make sure he's ok. But then, I have to remind myself that yes, we were young and naive, but it didn't mean we weren't completely clueless or stupid. And that we hate each other.

We've gone back to avoiding each over after the fiasco that was the therapy session. He's still angry at me though, I can tell by the look in his eyes.

"Hey!"

Guess who's distracting me from my thoughts? It's Deadpool.

"Hey!" I smile. It's genuine this time. The only other person who has seen this smile is Luci.

"Enjoying the _fiesta?_ " He asks.

"It's nice," I answer, reserved.

"Come on now Not Dad, why don't you come out and dance?" He gives me a friendly punch close to my shoulder. I feel my muscles tense up, and I quickly open my mouth so I can distract myself from the memories.

"I'm a bit tired."

"Tired? I can't believe that's coming from you!"

The yellow boxes pop up again.

_Loki's not our dad_

_Yes he is!_

_No he's not!_

_This is the guy who has a horse and a wolf as his kids. Anything can happen!_

"The old me might have made that up," I tell him as the boxes fade away.

"Doesn't matter. I don't even know my own story," Deadpool says. "I have at least five different origin stories. I think. No maybe ten! A thousand! Well the only way my story can move forward is if I'm in control and so--to the chimichangas!"

He heads off to one of the food tables.

"Catch you around!" He calls out.

I chuckle. I take another sip of beer. It's still crap.

I glance back at the kid. He's picked up a taco and starts to take a bite. He drops it and clutches at his cheeks. His whole face would have turned red if he were still alive.

"Hot! Hot!" He waves his hands about. He gasps.

Luci, who happens to be passing by stops. She takes one look at him and says:

"Dairy helps."

He reaches his hand out to the table and a glass appears. It's a vanilla milkshake: thick and creamy with a straw floating at the top. He grabs it and takes a sip. He lets out a sigh. Luci watches him and leaves once he emptied half of the glass.

Scratch that, I think we both need to be looked after.

"Loki."

Wolverine's next to me now. He's the also the only other one who has not joined the festivities. He's also drinking beer: a bottle of dos equis. 

"I can't believe you're here," I say.

"Thought it over but I decided to come. As much as we want to. There's some people," he glances over at Deadpool as he says this. "That you can't avoid forever." 

He lowers his voice.

"Listen. I know the therapy thing was a mistake, but they're keeping at it. They won't budge until you reconcile."

"Oh."

"They're--we're giving you both a project," he tells me. "You two have to work together. On what, I don't know. I thought I'd tell you first, 'cause I know you'd take it better."

"Ok," I say.

"Alright then," Wolverine nods. "Meet me later, after the next meeting."

He leaves.

I gulp down the rest of my beer. My mouth tastes like piss and fear. I gag.


	8. Chapter 8

They want us to build a wall. 

A brick wall that is eight feet high and that stretches out for a mile. A bit of space has been curtained off for this purpose.

There's a pile of bricks over by my left side. By the kid, there's a bucket of cement. The supervisor paces around us as he explains our task.

We're both standing the same way, with our arms crossed over our chest, slouching a bit as we shift our weight forward. I don't know what my face looks like, but it must have the same annoyed stare as the kid's. 

"So. Do you boys understand everything?"

The kid pouts. I nod.

"Alright. Who's gonna put down the first brick?"

For the first time in a long time we look at each other. And even though I'm him and he's me, I can't figure out if that squint means that he wants to start, or if he's threatening me not to mess up anything. 

It could be both.

So I bend down and pick up a brick. I walk over to the bucket and take the trowel nearby. I scoop up some cement and spread it on the bottom. I plant it into the ground.  
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
The air is thick with cigarette smoke. I take a drag and glance over at Luci.

We're leaning against the wall outside her space. It's a house; cozy and quaint, like the kinds you find in the suburbs. I think she based it on the house where she grew up, but I don't ask.

She surprised that I'm the one who's doing most of the talking this time. She's usually the one who has to prod the information out of me.

"A wall?" She's curious. 

"Yeah. Can't believe it either. A prince of Asgard doing manual labor? Never!" My voice does the thing it used to when I joked in life. It feels so odd hearing it again, but there's something inside of me that lights up as the words leave my mouth.

She laughs. I chuckle as well. My lip trembles as I smile.

"Build up on those skills and maybe I'll get you to fix my living room."

"You'll have to pay me in gold," I wag my finger. "Pure gold. 15 bars. Not the alloyed kind. Or at least ten thousand dollars in cash, all one hundred dollar bills."

"Geez you're such a rip off!"

"I'm Loki Laufeyson Miss Rigby, I only accept the finest in life _and_ death," I make a dramatic hand gesture. 

"You'd be the shittiest contractor ever."

"But the _best_ " I wink.

Luci winks back. She throws her cigarette stub away.  
***********************************************************  
I was having such a good moment.

Why did they have to come back?

There's no reason to the memories to come back and sear my mind again.

What was it? The kid? I did good with that too. We weren't at each other throats like last time. I think that's quite an improvement. So what's happening to me? 

Is it my guilt?

Is it?

IS IT?

Is it that I'm alone here in this empty space?

Empty….empty…

Curled up here on the living room floor just like that living room floor. Exactly the same except there's no blood. I don't hear him. And it's only in my head...

I smell the blood… 

I--I can feel it…

THE BLOOD

THE LAUGHS

**I SCREAM**


	9. Chapter 9

Scoop. Splat. Smoosh.

Scoop. Splat. Smoosh.

I work on one side, he the other. We've laid out the foundation for about a half a mile. I don't know how long we've been laying these bricks. Time is just an abstract concept here in the afterlife. There is only the now and the past.

Wolverine sits in a beach chair close by and watches us work. I imagine that he's dressed in speedos, holding a fruity cocktail with an umbrella floating at the top, as tiny wolverines dressed in bikinis dance around the chair. I let out a snort.

The kid curiously looks up at me. His mouth almost moves as if to ask what's so funny when his hand presses down on one of the bricks and he slathers the cement on top.  
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Another now. Another meeting.

Dum Dum Dugan is droning on and on about some military crap. I caught something about bombs, ghost limbs, survivor's guilt, and disposable dummies before I decided that this was of no interest to me. Well to be honest it should have been interesting but this guy is making it sound like some five hour lecture by some stuffy old professor.

God I just want to leave. 

I look around and see that the others close to me are also bored to tears. It seems only the fellow veterans up front are having a good time.

It's a good thing that I'm sitting in the back. It's easier to zone out and not be yelled at. Or create your own distraction.

Distraction eh?

I blame the Wolverine image from earlier.

I can feel myself smirk. I'm not going down that route, but I know how to liven up this bore fest and tell Mr. Dum-Dum-Ugh Dugan exactly how I feel about this meeting.

I stick my hand under my armpit and I cut loose the loudest fart sound I can muster. 

The group notices. They turn their heads and look around to see where the noise came from.

I do it again, except this time I blow into the crook of my elbow. The person sitting in front of me jolts back into their seat.

"Who did that? Who did that?" Dum Dum yells.

Third time's a charm.

People are giggling. Several rows ahead, I can Deadpool is roaring, banging his fists on the table like it's the funniest thing he's heard. Luci snorts as she squeezes the cup of water in her hands. It overflows and runs down her sleeve. 

"Ok that's enough!" Dum Dum is getting frustrated. "Whoever is doing that please--"

I cast a spell as I let out the last fart sound so that it echoes around the room. It's my best trick yet; the members are literally rolling on the floor and dying again from laughter. 

"Jesus Christ!" Dum Dum adds in a few more choice 40s phrases. 

Cue for everyone to start leaving.

I smirk again.

Ha. Ha. Ha.  
***********************  
It's driving me crazy.

Brick after brick. Feeling the dust crumble in my hands as the numbness shoots through my fingertips to the wrists. The pain is psychological and will stop after each building session, but it's the most perceived physical pain I've felt since my death and it's too much to bear.

I look up at my supervisor and signal that I want a break. I get a brusque _no_.

I curse under my breath.

I find that I need more cement. The bucket sits on the other side of the wall, where he's working.

"Hey? Can you pass me the bucket?" I ask.

I peer up from my end of the wall and see that he's wearing earphones and listening to music on an iPhone. It seems like he's working to the beat as he scoops and smooths the cement onto the bricks. He's moving his head back and forth and there's a smile on his face.

"I'm just going to take this for a second," I raise my voice.

I lean over the wall to take the bucket.

Crash.

I land on top of him. The bucket's knocked over, the earphones are disconnected, and he's lying on the ground.

"Sorry! Sorry!" I apologize as I get up. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

There's no answer from him. His eyes are wide with a scared look to them. I kneel down and offer my hand.

Big mistake.

He grabs at the wrist and twists it. I let out a yelp. I feel myself being pulled to the ground just when the supervisor intervenes.

"Hey! **Hey!** "

The supervisor grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him off. I sit back and cradle my wrist. Even though the pain has already stopped, I still feel numb all over.

"You can't **do** that!" The supervisor shakes him. 

"But he hurt me!" The kid yells. "He hurt me!"

"You can't **fight** here! You leave your problems outside. That's the rule. Come on we're getting you somewhere to calm down."

The supervisor starts to drag him away. I watch. This time he's not trying to get at me like when Wolverine held him back. He's completely still, almost limp in the supervisor's grasp. His mouth opens and the sides curl down. His eyes are wide and puffy and they bulge each time he gasps. He's trying to cry, but the tears won't come. 

I made him like this. It's my fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry I haven't been able to update. I've been busy with school for the past month_


End file.
